dispatches from Stepford, Vermont
This is not a camp joke. Many of us are actually living in Stepford, Connecticut. The one from 1975, not the “comedy” remake.
Those of you in Gen X and early Boomherhood will remember how good 1970s horror and science fiction was. The made-for-TV adaptation of Ira Levin’s The Stepford Wives runs circles around any modern big-budget theatrical release.
You know the feeling you had when you watched it. That you were being spied on. That a thin veil separated you from a world that looked almost, but not quite, like the real one.
This is the feeling I experience every day leaving my house and interacting in public in Burlington Vermont.
Yesterday I went to a specialty locksmith to get a set of keys cut.
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